


The Better Parts Of Me

by choking_on_roses



Category: Free!
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Haru being Haru, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mild Angst, Relationship Problems, boyfriend shirt like you've never seen it before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choking_on_roses/pseuds/choking_on_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey," Rin says, suddenly serious. He fidgets with one of the many bracelets on his wrist, biting the inside of his cheek. "Makoto seems...super bummed about Kisumi. There a reason he couldn't make it? Are you guys fighting again or something?"</p><p>Haru shrugs, white-hot rage skewering through him as he recalls Makoto's face from the train. "I dunno why he didn't come."</p><p>"Oh, I see," Rin says somberly. "If you weren't fighting before, you're sure gonna now."</p><p> </p><p>(Everyone always says long-distance relationships are hard, and Haru's not sure why he thought they'd be the exception. Until something reminds him why it's all worth it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Parts Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired in part by Pirta's [amazing MakoHaru porn](http://piip.tumblr.com/post/132965969741/harukamakoto-theres-no-end-in-sight-to-all-of) (except I got incredibly carried away with the plot as per usual...)
> 
> And I also wanna wish Scout a belated happy birthday! In porn form ofc because I'm a piece of trash YAAAYYYY!!!! *throws dick-shaped confetti*
> 
> Find me at [rosaveritas.tumblr.com](http://rosaveritas.tumblr.com) or on twitter @[maguro_hime](https://twitter.com/maguro_hime)

Haru shoves his hands deeper into his pockets to keep them warm, snuggling the tip of his nose into his scarf. Stealing a glance to the left, he catches Makoto looking at him.

"You can borrow my gloves," Makoto says, starting to peel the left one off his fingers.

Haru stops him with a hand on his elbow, the wind cold on his bare knuckles. "No. It's your day."

"But your hands are all red," Makoto protests, bumping into Haru's side with his next step. "I should have reminded you to bring a pair, I'm sorr-"

"Shh! Makoto," Haru says, meeting Makoto's eyes levelly. He waits until Makoto stops and turns to face him, mouth dropping into a serious line. Then he makes his proposition: "You should hold my hand."

Makoto breaks into a delighted smile. "Alright." He clasps his fingers around Haru's frozen ones, massaging them gently. "How much longer are we waiting?"

Haru checks the time on his phone. "Eight...seven more minutes."

"I can't wait to see what the surprise is," Makoto chuckles, just like a mother waiting to be shown a drawing by her three-year-old. Haru knows it's not really considered a surprise if Makoto's already pretty much guessed exactly what it is, but still. He stubbornly sticks to his plan, saying nothing that could give his intentions away.

The train platform bustles with students going home for the weekend, most of them carrying their things in backpacks slung over their shoulders, gripping train schedules in their hands, collars up and mittens on against the cold, though many girls are still sporting short skirts. Haru catches a glimpse of pale thigh, wondering how the woman can manage to look so cheerful when she must be numb with cold by now. It'd be better wear something warmer, _pants_ at the very least, or some nice warm boots like the woman getting off the train-

"Haru-kun, Makoto-kun!" Kou rushes toward them, boots clicking on the cement train platform. She hugs Haru first, a quick embrace, and then moves to Makoto, who all but swallows her in a bear hug with his big winter jacket. Rin's only a few feet behind her, buttoning his coat back up after having it off for the train ride.

"Rin, Kou! I'm so happy to see you! I can't believe you came," Makoto cries, elated. Haru wiggles his toes in his boots, glad he can hide his pleased smile behind his scarf. So far, his surprise is working out perfectly.

"'Course we came," Rin says, giving Makoto a one-armed hug and a dazzling grin. "Haru made us. I was just gonna send you a nice card-"

Kou elbows her brother in the ribs. "He was _not,_ " she laughs. "He's been talking about this all week though. I can't believe he didn't give it away."

"I wanted to see Makoto's face when we got off the train."

Kou suddenly gasps, covering her mouth. "I should have had my camera ready! Damn it..."

"That's okay. I really had no idea you guys were coming," Makoto admits, eyes bright. "Well, I knew _someone_ was coming, but I wasn't expecting you. Did Kisumi take a different train?"

Rin raises an eyebrow and shares a quizzical look with Kou. Haru coughs. "Kisumi couldn't come."

"I- oh. Oh," Makoto chokes, blinking. Haru hates seeing that lost expression on his face, the utter confusion and hurt in the moments before he gets a grip on his emotions and carefully stows them away. "I don't...that was my mistake. When you brought me here I just- it's so silly, I just assumed he would be...I. Got a bit ahead of myself. But it's so good to see you two," he reiterates at Rin and Kou, a warmth in his voice that doesn't reach his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

"One more," Rin says, leaning halfway over the counter to whisper his order in Haru's ear. Well, shout really, considering the volume of the dance music at the club. "He's finally starting to loosen up."

Haru dips behind the counter to grab a clean glass, filling it with beer from the tap. As the golden liquid bubbles into the cup, he scans the dancefloor for Makoto. It's pretty easy to spot him, despite the dim blue lighting washing over the mass of writhing, drunken dancers. While he's certainly not the tallest person in the room, he still towers over the majority of the women that inevitably flock to him when he's out. He wears a lopsided smile, sloshing beer over the side of the half-empty cup he's already holding as he flails his arms in some attempt to dance.

Haru's relieved enough to see Kou there beside him, keeping a watchful eye over him, but he still gives Rin a meaningful frown when he hands him the fresh beer. "Don't let him get too drunk," he warns.

Rin glances over his shoulder at Makoto before leaning back in towards Haru. "I'll take care of him. Promise. God, I can't believe your manager wouldn't give you the day off. What a fucking dick."

Haru sighs his agreement. "That's why I invited you. I didn't want him to be alone tonight." And he suspects that if he weren't on shift, the bouncers wouldn't have been nearly as willing to turn a blind eye to letting Kou and Rin in underage.

"Hey," Rin says, suddenly serious. He fidgets with one of the many bracelets on his wrist, biting the inside of his cheek. "Makoto seems...super bummed about Kisumi. There a reason he couldn't make it? Are you guys fighting again or something?"

Haru shrugs, white-hot rage skewering through him as he recalls Makoto's face from the train. "I dunno why he didn't come."

"Oh, I see," Rin says somberly. "If you weren't fighting before, you're sure gonna now."

"He's t-" but Rin's already slipped away, maneuvering through the thrashing crowd like an eel. He, Haru notes, remains steady on his feet, holding the drink aloft, spilling nary a drop on the head of any passing dancers.

As he prepares a couple of whiskey sours for some girls at the other end of the bar counter, who'd ordered before Rin and were now aiming impatient scowls in Haru's direction, he decides that this might actually be a good for Makoto. According to all the movies Haru's seen about university, he gathers that getting drunk is basically a staple experience; it's certainly a change from his usual studious, quiet, bordering-on-middle-aged lifestyle. Besides, he definitely doesn't seem as sad now.

Glancing at the time on the till's computer screen as he inputs the girls' money, he realizes it's past midnight. On most occasions when he works nights, Makoto would be fast asleep already, having sent his _goodnight, Haru!_ text two hours before. By the time Haru creeps into bed after two, Makoto's spread out over the bed, covers wrapped around him in a tangle that causes Haru much grief to undo without waking his boyfriend up.

Looking around to make sure nobody's paying attention, though he doesn't particularly care if anyone is, Haru pulls out his phone to look through his texts from the last few days.

 

 **Kisumi:** i cant come today. something came up ;A;

 **Outbox:** k

 **Kisumi:** i'll call him later, so maybe that could be the surprise?

 

Haru gulps, finishing the response he'd been typing earlier.

**Outbox:** won't work tonight. he's busy.

 **Kisumi:** oh ok. i hope he's having fun~ I'll try Skyping in the morning

 **Kisumi:** love you. hope ur having fun too :D

 

Haru shoves his phone away, fingers trembling. Filling the sink with water to wash some of the empty cups, Haru searches Makoto out again. This time Rin sees him looking, taps Makoto on the shoulder, and points him in the right direction. Makoto smiles wide when he sees Haru, waving before giving him a thumbs up. Haru waves back with a small grin on his lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 "That was so much fun," Makoto giggles, bouncing impatiently on his toes while he waits for Haru to unlock the apartment door. "I had a great view of you at the bar! You look so cool at work."

The lock clicks and Haru pushes the door open, keys jingling as he slips them back into his coat pocket. He kicks his shoes off and gets out of the way, making space for Makoto to come in. He stumbles across the threshold, nearly toppling over when he bends to untie his shoes.

"I've never seen you this drunk," Haru mutters. "How many drinks did Rin give you?"

"It's not that bad. Really, I'm not that drunk," Makoto reassures him, and he's not slurring his words when he speaks, so Haru shrugs it off as the truth. He doesn't seem sick or lethargic like a lot of people Haru's seen overdrink themselves at the bar on lonely Tuesday nights. "I had a really nice time tonight. Thanks for inviting Rin and Kou." He steps forward and folds Haru in a hug, smelling faintly of beer and sweat.

Makoto's hands roam over Haru's back, patting him, and he hugs tighter, until Haru's feeling slightly claustrophobic from the strength of it. Makoto chuckles again, nuzzling the side of Haru's head. His cheek feels hot on Haru's, flushed with alcohol. "I'm not a stuffed animal," Haru grumbles.

"Are you sure? You're so cute," Makoto says, picking Haru clear off the ground with the force of his next hug. "You're right...you're more like a cat. A very adorable cat. Who I love."

Haru feels his own cheeks heating, half with a hesitant pleasure at Makoto's words and half with embarrassment at the realization that he's not completely adverse to being manhandled. Not when it's Makoto, of course. And Makoto's usually the picture of propriety, attentive to Haru's boundaries, touching him only when invited to do so. Coming from any other person- aside from Nagisa, whom Haru doesn't have the heart to chastise- Haru would consider this a grievous transgression. "I love you too," he sighs, patting Makoto's back. "We should go to bed."

"Mmm," Makoto hums, moving toward the bedroom without putting Haru down. He's still tipsy, unsteady on his feet, and Haru spends the brief trip fearing an imminent head injury that never comes. Makoto finally puts him down once they're through the bedroom door. "Haru?"

"Yes?" Haru's already midway through stripping his dirty work shirt off. He just wants to crawl into bed and close his eyes...

"Can we do it?"

Haru tosses his shirt aside and turns to Makoto, who's staring at him, dark and intense, cheeks and ears red. His eyes glint in the glare of the bright neon advertisement sign that faces their window from across the street. Normally Haru hates the glow, pulling the curtains shut before going to bed, but he likes the way it highlights the angle of Makoto's face. He looks dangerous, predatory...a shiver slips down Haru's spine.

"You looked so good tonight," Makoto continues, advancing on him slowly. He fumbles to remove his jacket as he gets closer. "I love watching you work. And so many girls were talking to you."

"They were just ordering drinks."

Makoto shakes his head, mouth curving into a smile. "You're so oblivious. Cute." He puts his hands on Haru's bare shoulders, running them down his arms to catch his hands. "I wanted to tell them you're mine," he whispers. "I was thinking about what I'd do to you if you weren't working."

Haru blinks, squeezing Makoto's hands, captivated by his unfiltered thoughts. Normally he'd never say such things...normally, Haru wouldn't want him to. He shuffles closer, until Makoto's belt buckle presses cold against his stomach. "What would you have done?"

"I woulda..." Makoto bends down, his soft hair tickling Haru's earlobe. "I woulda got you drunk, too. And danced with you. Really slutty _._ "

Colour rises in Haru's cheeks, hearing such a word from Makoto's lips, feeling the hot caress of his breath on his ear. "What do you mean?"

"I would do anything you want me to do," Makoto says, seriously, hands moving to cup Haru's ass. He pulls Haru close, grinding their fronts together, swaying his hips in a way that's uncharacteristically seductive of him. "I wanted everyone to see it."

Sparks gather in the pit of Haru's stomach and he snakes his hands up around Makoto's neck, pulling him down for a kiss, a soft brush of lips on lips. He threads his fingers through Makoto's hair, angling his head and gently nipping at his lower lip. He tastes like beer, but his mouth is hotter than usual, lips parting willingly to accept Haru's tongue. Haru's hands slide down to Makoto's chest, fingers digging into the fabric as their tongues slide over each other, Makoto exhaling gently through his nose against Haru's cheek.

Haru makes short work of Makoto's belt, tugging his jeans and boxers both down around his thighs, slipping a hand between them to gauge the state of Makoto's cock. It's half-hard already, and Makoto whimpers into Haru's mouth, grinding against his palm.

"Makoto," Haru pants, finally pulling away to replenish the air in his lungs with deep, stinging breaths. "You said you'd do anything?"

"Anything," Makoto replies automatically, leaning on Haru's shoulder for support as Haru continues to stroke him. "I'm so horny."

Haru kisses him once more, gentle, hand sliding over Makoto's jaw. He grips his face firmly, looking straight into his eyes, and Makoto merely smiles, blowing his bangs out of his face. Few people must have the ability to look demure and innocent during a drunken hand job, but Makoto's blessedly one of them. Haru takes Makoto's hand, shoving it down the front of his pants so Makoto can feel the affect he's having. "I saw a girl giving her boyfriend a blow job in the corner at work once," he muses.

"I remember you telling me that," Makoto says, his fingers clumsy but still welcome in Haru's underwear.

"Would you have done that to me?"

Makoto's eyes flutter shut and he groans softly in Haru's ear. "God, yes." His free hand drifts down and encloses around Haru's squeezing his hand tighter around his cock as he thrusts his hips with more purpose.

Haru nips his earlobe. "Does the thought of doing it in front of people make you horny?"

Makoto whimpers again, nodding shyly.

Haru swallows the shocked lump in his throat, processing this new information. He pulls his hand off of Makoto's dick, caressing his face instead and getting him to look him in the eyes again. "Do you really wanna be slutty?"

To his surprise, Makoto's eyes go glassy, his face flushing darker. "Yes."

"Then suck me," Haru demands. "Right now."

Makoto nods emphatically, making to get down on his knees, but Haru stops him, leading him to the bed instead. He pushes Makoto down, wondering at how pliable he is in this state. A brief flash of guilt passes through him, a concern that he's taking advantage, but as Makoto does with so many other topics, he seems to read Haru's mind, urging him on with his hands. "Hurry..."

Haru strips off the rest of his own clothes while Makoto struggles to peel his pants the rest of the way off his legs. Haru ends up helping him with them, as well as his shirt, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor. He coaxes Makoto up against the headboard with a serious of wet, open-mouthed kisses and a gentle pinch of his nipple.

Makoto shivers at the touch, back arching from the mattress. He runs his hands continuously over Haru's skin, brushing him lightly enough to raise goosebumps, the sensation pooling heavy in Haru's belly. He straddles Makoto's chest, knees gripping him tight on either side, and pumps his own dick, enjoying the way Makoto's eyes seem fixated on the motion of his hand.

He holds the base of his erection, aiming it, his balls resting between Makoto's pecs in this position. It's strange, but certainly not uncomfortable, especially with Makoto's face to close to his cock. Makoto raises his head up like a curious dog, fingers digging into Haru's ass. "Lick it," Haru commands, a tad more breathy than desired.

Makoto's eyes sparkle in the fluorescent yellow light, cheeks dusted pink, lips parting as Haru nudges his cock against them. He takes the tip in his mouth, moaning in the back of his throat as he uses his tongue to coat Haru slick with saliva. Haru shudders at Makoto's expression, letting go of himself to lean against the headboard with both hands. He gyrates his hips back and forth, slowly at first, getting friction on his balls from Makoto's chest as well as the sloppy, hot sensation of Makoto's eager tongue searching out his sensitive spots. "Is this what you were thinking about?"

Makoto trembles beneath him, shifting his legs, releasing Haru with a pop. Haru can feel the anxious energy thrumming through Makoto's veins, making his eyes flicker dark and dangerous. "Yes. Right in the middle of the dance floor. Except," Makoto sighs, "you had your hands in my hair, fucking me rough, and everyone was watching..."

"You're disturbed," Haru tells him, bending down for another long, wet kiss. The taste of his own precome mingles with the alcohol on Makoto's breath, forcing a flood of heat in Haru's hips.

"Would Kisumi like it?" He sounds so small with his voice like that, vulnerable, genuinely worried.

Ice runs down Haru's back.

Makoto gazes into his eyes, faithfully awaiting an answer. "Or would he...would he hate me like this?"

"There's no way he would," Haru answers, but the honesty in it brings little relief. "Hate you, I mean." He trails his hands down Makoto's chest, hoping to distract him.

"I really thought he was coming," Makoto sighs, stilling Haru's hands. "I..." He worries his bottom lip, trying to blink away the mist coming in his eyes. Haru's chest clenches at the sight of him trying to hold back the flood.

"Didn't he text you at all?" How many times would Haru have to watch Makoto fall apart like this because of _Kisumi?_

Makoto nods pathetically, pressing the back of his hand to his eyes. "All night. But he...he wished me a happy birthday but other than that he acted like everything was normal. He didn't tell me why he didn't come."

"Did you ask him why?"

"Well, no, but..." Makoto takes a deep, shuddering breath. "This is so _hard._ I didn't know how hard it would be."

"Long distance relationships suck," Haru agrees, stroking Makoto's hair to soothe him.

The next question comes as a whisper, the accusation cutting through Haru like a knife. "Do you miss him, too? Isn't this hard? Didn't it hurt when he didn't show up?"

"I... _do_ miss him," Haru says, and it's not really a lie. He misses the lightness Kisumi puts in Makoto's heart. Misses it almost as much as he detests it, almost as much as he feels the suffocating inadequacy when he can't always make Makoto happy on his own. And that's all he's willing to admit to himself.

"Why can't you just trust him? He's not going anywhere." Makoto murmurs, caressing Haru's face. Haru shies away from him, feeling undeserving of the touch. "If you really don't want to be with us both, you don't have to."

"I want you to be happy," Haru explains, and yeah, that initially was the reason he'd agreed to this relationship. He hadn't expected there to be all these... _other_ rapidly developing complications. "But you're not happy. You're never happy."

Makoto tucks a strand of hair behind Haru's ear, smiling sadly. "Well, that's not because of Kisumi."

"Yes it _is,_ " Haru hisses. "It's all his fault. If he came here you wouldn't be so...like _this._ You'd be happy, for real." Haru stares at the sheets now bunched in his hands; he's not sure how or when they got there, but he clenches hard, burning the fish pattern into his retinas. It's better than thinking about this conversation. "And you don't even need me when he's around."

"What are you..." Makoto's fingers run softly over Haru's thighs, displaying the precise control he possesses over his own strength. "We both need you. I need both of you. And he needs both of us. That's how this works."

Haru squirms, suddenly feeling trapped, the walls coming down on him from all sides. Makoto's hands clamp down on him, holding him still. His brow is furrowed, eyes dark and searching. "Haru."

" _What?_ " Haru says, his voice tearing desperately from his throat, far louder than he intended.

"If you're mad at him, you need to tell him."

"I'm _not mad at him,_ " Haru seethes, the tone of his own voice putting him more on edge. He's unreasonable, he's a liar, he's unfair.

Makoto traps Haru's wrists, hard enough to hurt. He tries to wriggle free but can't, his face on fire. "Who are you mad at?"

"I'm- I don't know! He makes you cry a lot. I hate it. I hate that even though I'm right here, you spend half your time missing him."

Makoto's mouth presses into a grim line. "I'm not the only one who misses him. Admit it."

"It's just. It's hard. Not being good enough."

Tears threaten to spill from Haru's eyes and he sniffles, as discretely as possible, hoping it's dark enough for Makoto not to notice.

"You're not even listening to me. Last time I visited him, all we talked about was you," Makoto says. "He was devastated that you had to work and couldn't come. He told he sometimes really thinks you don't like him."

"I _do_ like him," Haru protests.

"I know, but you have to tell him. It's not...he's not like us. He can't tell what you're thinking like I can. Especially if he never gets to see you."

Despite the tumble of thoughts and emotions flashing through Haru's mind, he's unable to latch onto a single one worth saying aloud. He glares at the paint peeling along the windowsill instead.

"You're mad that he didn't come and you're mad that you always have to work when important things are happening," Makoto patiently explains, and something in Haru's chest loosens as he says it.

"I am not," Haru huffs.

"You're not really mad at him for hurting me. That's silly. You're mad because _you're_ hurt."

"...I don't wanna talk about this."

Makoto sighs through his nose, a measure of amusement in it. "You're being so stubborn."

"No."

This time Makoto laughs, chest heaving under Haru's weight, and Haru feels his mouth twisting into a smile despite himself. He tries forcing it back into a frown, but it doesn't cooperate.

"Kisumi loves you as much as I do," Makoto assures him. "I can tell. And," he continues, propping himself up on his elbows. "That's really not easy to do, because I love you so much. So much I...I can't even explain it."

"I feel the same way," Haru responds, clinging to Makoto's shoulders. "It's...a painful feeling in my chest. When I think about you. And when I..." He finally allows himself the liberty of sobbing into the crook of Makoto's neck. "When I think about how he didn't come off the train. He told me he wasn't coming, but I thought maybe...maybe he was just faking, so he could surprise me, too. But he didn't come."

Makoto's hands ruffle Haru's hair, strong and comforting. Haru feels only a momentary stab of guilt for stealing the attention; this is Makoto's day, everything should be about him. Haru should be the one offering support and comfort. But Makoto's arms feel so nice around him, so secure, simultaneously serving as a reminder that there's another pair of arms absent from their vignette. A pair of arms that could heal both their aching hearts.

"We'll see him again soon," Makoto promises, and it doesn't sound quite as empty as it is.

 

 

 

 

 

Haru wakes in the warmth of Makoto's arms. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, taking a moment to bask in Makoto's heavy breathing beside him- his throat rumbles at little on each inhale, bordering on snoring, his hair fanned out on the pillow away from his face. Haru rests his hand on Makoto's forehead, brushing the hair back, fascinated as the sunlight hits it, transforming it from tawny to honey brown. An earthy, rich colour, like the sand at the beach. His cheeks and chin are peppered with stubble of the same shade.

"Gedda door, Haru..." Makoto mumbles, clumsily rubbing his nose.

"There's nobody at the door," Haru informs him, poking his cheek. "Unless you ordered something delivered straight to our bedroom."

Makoto shakes his head, finally cracking his eyes open, irises a crisp, vibrant green. "Mmm. G'morning."

Haru pokes him again, harder, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. Makoto blinks at him. "Do you remember last night?"

"Yes, I remember last night. I told you I wasn't that drunk."

 Haru stares.

Makoto scrunches his nose, scratching it again. "...What?"

"So you remember that thing about wanting to suck my cock while everyone watches?"

A small, suspiciously squeak-like sound escapes Makoto's lips and he flushes from his chest to the tips of his ears. "...No....sorry...I-I don't remember that."

" _Liar._ " Haru rolls on top of him, pinning him between his knees, kicking the blanket down. Makoto's face seems rosy and warm in the sunlight filling the room, a softer cast to his face than the electric lights had given him. Haru prefers this much more. "I dreamed we actually did it."

Makoto's eyebrows rise, eyes widening. "Really?"

Haru nods. "But there was only one person watching us."

"Kisumi," Makoto breathes, face melting into a lopsided grin when Haru grunts his affirmation. "...Did you really dream this?"

"Yes...Kisumi wants to Skype today," Haru says, the heat of Makoto's chest heating his inner thighs. He rocks slightly back and forth, cock grazing Makoto's pectorals, half-hard from his dream and all his pent up anger from last night. "We should send him something."

"Like what?" Makoto asks, hands sliding down Haru's back to take a firm hold of his ass. The slow rubbing raises goosebumps on Haru's skin, Makoto's strong fingers separating his cheeks and slipping between. Haru shudders, running both hands up his own chest to play with his nipples. He rolls them in his fingers, letting a gasp escape as an electric tingle shoots into his belly. Makoto watches him with great interest, taking one hand away from fondling Haru's ass to reach blindly for some things on the dresser that they'll need- a tube of lubricant, a condom, and his phone.

"You actually want to make a video?" Haru takes the phone in hand as he speaks, searching clumsily for the camera button. He can hardly figure out the functions on his own phone, let alone Makoto's, and it's hard to focus with Makoto's hands around his hips, massaging like that...

Makoto blushes, biting his bottom lip. "...It'll feel like he's here." He trails his fingertips between Haru's ass cheeks. "We should pick up where we left off last night."

"Yes, just like my dream," Haru says, belly clenching at the thought.

Makoto props himself up against the headboard, easily repositioning Haru with a few movements of his strong arms, pulling him further up on his chest. Haru straddles his pecs, leaning on the wall, looking down at the magnificent view. Makoto glances up at him, mouth curved into a pleased smile, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and glinting. "The camera, Haru," he reminds him.

Haru focuses on holding the camera steady, watching Makoto through the screen as he takes Haru's cock in his hand, pumping and teasing it with his fingers until Haru's thighs are trembling, his hips yearning to thrust for more friction. But he keeps still, using one hand to steady himself against the headboard.

Makoto periodically smiles into the camera as he works, blushing harder each time he does, until Haru's painfully hard and dripping in his hand. "Suck me," Haru demands, impatiently wriggling his hips. There's only so long he can stand up to Makoto's stroking.

"Mm, be patient," Makoto hums pleasantly, tugging Haru up even closer to his face.

"I can't. I want you," Haru groans, feeling Makoto tense under him in response. The feel of all that strength between his knees, the heavy, solid muscles and smooth, warm skin rippling beneath him, grazing his thighs and ass and balls... "Please."

Makoto reaches up to adjust the wrist Haru holds the camera in. He hadn't even noticed it had gone slack. "Focus, love. I want it to be a _good_ video."

Haru holds it with both hands now, momentarily distracted by his task, a shiver running down his spine when Makoto sucks his cock into his mouth with no warning. Using the screen to watch, Haru holds the phone as steady as he can, trained on Makoto's face. He gaps and shudders as Makoto bobs his head back so only the tip is between his lips, opening his mouth wide for the camera to see as he swirls his tongue around it.

Haru whimpers, taking a handful of Makoto's hair to steady himself. Later, he'll pretend it's to get a better shot of Makoto with his bangs out of his eyes, but now, it's for the slight thrill of control it gives him to have Makoto beneath him, wincing slightly at the pain, still avidly sucking on Haru's cock.

With Haru immobilizing his movements, Makoto can't bob his head, can't take Haru deep back in his throat the way he likes. His grip tightens on Haru's ass, fingers vice-like to the point that Haru's sure it will bruise. He trembles, heat coiling tightly in his belly at the thought of being marked. The camera shakes in his hand as Makoto laps up his precome, urging Haru to move his hips. His hands are so big and so _strong,_ directing exactly how fast and hard Haru should thrust.

The friction on his balls, Makoto's flexible, wet tongue gliding over him, those iron fingers digging into his ass- Haru gasps and moans, yanking Makoto's hair harder in retaliation, unwilling to give up his small illusion of control. On the phone screen, it looks as if Makoto's completely submissive to his whims, having his beautiful mouth fucked into, Haru's cock going deeper in each time until his nose is buried in the dark hair at Haru's pubic bone. He wonders if Kisumi will instinctively know that Makoto's really the one pulling all the strings, like he always is.

The mind-numbing pleasure creeps up from his toes, electricity shooting down his spine, through his thighs, settling deep in his stomach. Haru stiffens over Makoto, using everything in his power to hold the camera steady, his twitching cock and flushed face the only warning that he's about to come. Makoto senses it, stroking Haru's thighs with his hands, pulling off him with a wet smack, his lips shiny with moisture. Everything clamps down at once, orgasm rushing through him without mercy, his face hot and body weak as he comes hard across Makoto's face.

He crumples once he's finished, taking deep, laboured breaths while Makoto continues to soothingly stroke his trembling legs. Haru straightens, phone still in hand, and holds it up to get a good view of his handiwork. Makoto blinks up at the camera through long lashes beaded with come, smears of it all across his cheek and mouth, some dripping from his hair.

He smiles, closing his eyes in satisfaction, running his tongue over his lips. "Cut," he murmurs.

"No," Haru argues. "You have to say more."

This time Makoto's face goes so red Haru can practically feel the heat on his hyperstimulated thighs. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Tell him you had a good birthday. Even though he wasn't here."

"That's rude!"

Haru zooms the camera in on his embarrassed, wrecked face. "I took good care of him, Kisumi," he enunciates clearly. "Apparently alcohol makes him into a porn star." Makoto covers his face, shoving the phone out of way with his palm.

 

 

 

  

Kisumi sneezes into a tissue, then wipes his nose with his sleeve. Haru can see several other crumpled tissues littered over his desk, and even with Skype's shitty video quality, he can see Kisumi's cheeks rosy with fever. "I'b sorry I could'd come," Kisumi says, smiling his usual brilliant smile. "I did'd wanna ged you sick."

"Oh, honey," Makoto says, voice thick with motherly concern, touching the laptop screen as though he can reach Kisumi through it. Haru's own fingers itch to do the same, but he keeps his hands clenched firmly in his lap. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Begause I knew you'd worry de whole nighd if I did. Bud I'm fide, jusd a cold." He stares at them through the screen, eyes wide as he absorbs the sight, smile twisting into a tight line. "I miss you so much," he says thickly, and Haru's not sure if it's from mucous or overwhelming emotion caught in his throat. "I had a drain dicked to come."

Haru furrows his brow, puzzled. "What?"

"A drain dicked."

"A train ticket, Haru," Makoto cuts in.

"Yeah," Kisumi says, waving his hand in agreement. His hair looks limper than usual, strands clinging to his sweaty forehead. Haru blushes, guilt rising from the pit of his belly for thinking that he looks just a little bit sexy like that. "I had a dicked but then I god sick- _begause of Hayado,_ " he says the last part loudly over his shoulder in the direction of his bedroom door, presumably so Hayato can hear from the other room. "And I don'd think I can afford anoder one anydime soon, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Makoto says. "It's not your fault. We'll be able to see you for New Years!"

"A month and a half away," Haru mumbles, nails digging into his palms.

"It'll go fast," Makoto promises, and Haru envies how he can sound so sincere telling such an obvious lie.

Kisumi gives them a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Haru wants to touch it, pull his hands through it, feel how hot Kisumi's forehead really is. Cool it with a damp cloth. Grill him some mackerel to eat. He finds himself staring intently at the keyboard instead. "Id'll go really fasd," Kisumi assures him. "I'll Skybe you more ofden. Ebery day if I can."

Haru nods, swallowing the lump in his throat, and then the weight of Makoto's hand is on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Okay. If I'm not wor-"

Kisumi interrupts him with another sneeze, this time letting out a frustrated groan once he's tossed the tissue aside. Haru thinks his sneezes sound particularly delicate and cute, especially compared to Makoto's loud elephant ones. "My throad hurds so much," Kisumi whimpers.

"You need vinegar and honey," Haru advises him, thinking of the strange concoctions his grandmother always used to give him when he was sick as a kid.

Kisumi scrunches up his face, sticking out his tongue at the suggestion. "No! Thad's disgusding!"

"But it works."

Makoto chuckles. "Just put some lemon and honey in your tea. It's like hot lemonade."

"Okay, I'll dry it. I'm desberade ad this poind." He spends a moment just staring at them, chin resting on his hand. "So...whad did you do lasd nighd?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Rin and Kou came," Haru informs him. "I had to work. But Rin got Makoto really drunk and I got to watch him trying to dance."

"Seriously? Your manager wouldn'd give you the day off? Whad the fug," Kisumi bursts out, a lot more loudly than he should probably be speaking with a sore throat. It sounds raspy, grating on Haru's ears. It _sounds_ painful. "Whad an ass!"

Haru smiles, happy to finally receive the outburst he hadn't gotten from Makoto. Makoto had given a patient sigh and said that it was fine, and they could arrange to spend a different day together. But Kisumi...Kisumi always seemed outraged on Haru's behalf, his true champion. Warmth blossoms in Haru's chest at the knowledge that Kisumi feels as frustrated as he does. "It's okay. I have the weekend off."

"I sdill thing you should look for a bedder job," Kisumi grumbles, shaking his head. "Where they acdually _gare_ aboud- waid, Makodo was dancing drunk?"

Makoto coughs discreetly into his hand. "I wasn't _that_ drunk."

"It was hilarious," Haru says. "You'll have to see it at New Years."

"Yeah," Kisumi replies, wearing a huge smile. "I will. And you, too, begause you won'd have to be ad-" He punctuates the sentence with another sneeze. "Ugh, gross..." He rests his face on his desk, barely in the frame anymore, and Haru aches to be there in person with cough drops and a blanket. He imagines that this is how Makoto must feel constantly on any average day.

Mirroring Haru's thoughts, Makoto leans forward in his chair, tense. "You should go back to bed after this. You need to rest."

"I will, I god some new manga from the library I wanna read anyway." He meets Makoto's disbelieving stare with his own level look, eyes wide and innocent. "I _promise._ Oh. Bud anyway, Makodo, did you ged the presend I sent you?"

"Not yet! I'll go to the post office later and see if it came."

Kisumi straightens in his chair, clapping his hands delightedly. "I hobe it did! And don'd open it wid Rin and Gou there. Gou. I mean _Gou._ Stob laughing ad me, Haru!"

"I'm not laughing!"

"Yes you are! Jusd begause you don'd laugh like a normal person doesn'd mean I can'd tell."

Haru covers his mouth with his hand, trying to get his shoulders to stop shaking so Kisumi will stop accusing him. "Rin and Kou aren't even here. They're staying at Mikoshiba's place."

Kisumi perks up like a puppy that's just heard the telltale tinkle of food being poured into his bowl. "Did Rin finally admid they're going oud?"

Makoto sighs. "He'll tell us when he's ready."

"I hate having to pretend we don't know when we all do, though," Haru says. "It's annoying."

"You two are awful," Makoto chastises them. "We did the exact same thing for how long? It's not easy telling people about relationships when you aren't entirely sure that you'll be accepted."

Haru fiddles with a loose thread on the seam of his jeans, considering Makoto words. "I guess."

"Why does he thing we won'd accept him?" Kisumi asks, voicing Haru's own concerns. "Id kinda hurts. Bud yeah, you're righd." He leans closer, twirling a stray curl of hair around his forefinger. "So whad did you ged up to after they left?"

Haru smirks as Makoto blushes, looking away. "We have something for you," Haru tells him triumphantly. "I'll send it after we hang up."

Makoto nervously rubs the back of his neck. "And...don't open it with Hayato there," he adds shyly.

Haru nods part of him wishing Kisumi could watch it in front of them. He'd love to see his reactions. "Use headphones."

Kisumi's eyes shine, smiling broadly in anticipation. "Thang you so much. I'm gonna be in bed _resding_ all day today so...id'll be good to have something to wadch."

 

 

 

 

 

Haru rubs his tired eyes, trying to stay alert on the subway ride home. It's nearly three in the morning and his feet are sore after such a busy shift. He feels sticky and gross, his shirt smelling of stale alcohol and sweat. He can't decide which he wants more- a hot bath or a soft bed. Shame he can't have both at once.

He checks his phone as he gets off at his stop; Makoto hadn't sent him his traditional goodnight message at ten. It's far too late for him to still be up, so Haru doesn't bother sending him a text. He doesn't want to risk accidentally waking Makoto up.

He sends a reply to Kisumi's last message from a few hours before, surprised when he gets a reply right away.

 

 

 **Kisumi:** ur off work now?

                **Outbox:** yeah. finally

 **Kisumi:** its so late!! be safe on the way home

                **Outbox:** k. why r u still awake?

 **Kisumi:** couldnt sleep! ....i was watching that bday vid you guys sent me. again. for the 100th time.

               

Haru smiles, entering the courtyard of their apartment complex. Makoto's bike is locked up, so he's definitely home, and the tiny piece of Haru's brain that always worries he's been abducted or hit by a car when he doesn't text finally relaxes. His feet protest as he wearily climbs the stairs to their floor.

 

                **Outbox:** it's been 3 weeks, must be getting old...have 2 make a new one

 **Kisumi:** omggggggg i wont say no to that!!! HEART EYES BIATCH

 **Kisumi:** lmao autocorrect i meant to say bae

 

Unable to think of an immediate reply more sophisticated than _bullshit_ , Haru puts his phone away, surprised to find the front door the apartment already unlocked. Makoto must have forgotten. He slips inside and takes off his shoes, noticing in the dark that Makoto's forgotten to put his on the shoe rack. He kicks them out of the way, too exhausted to worry about it, heading to the kitchen to put his keys in the dish on the counter.

He freezes, catching sight of a dark shadow in the hall to the bedroom, too slender to be Makoto's silhouette. He gasps as the figure steps into the light, leaning languidly against the door frame. "We could make a new video now, you know."

Haru's mouth trembles as a hundred emotions tumble through his brain at once. He drops his keys on the floor, rushing to wrap his arms around Kisumi's neck, burying his face in the collar of his sweater and inhaling the smell of his deodorant. Kisumi's fingers ruffle his hair, and he sways slightly back and forth as they stand. "You scared me," Haru mutters. "Jerk."

"I'm sorry," Kisumi chuckles. "I almost gave it away so many times this week! We started planning this the day after his birthday. Oh, man...I missed you _so much._ "

Haru tries to reply, wanting to tell him the same thing, but the words won't come. Words aren't enough, anyway. He cups Kisumi's face, rising on his tip toes to kiss him, conveying his urgency through the brush of his lips.

Haru clings to Kisumi's sweater, nipping his bottom lip as he pulls away, a familiar, bitter taste heavy on his tongue. "You sucked his dick."

"I couldn't help it," Kisumi whines, hugging Haru tight and rubbing his cheek in his hair. Haru tolerates it, since it's a special occasion, fingers poised to give Kisumi a pinch once he's had enough. "He's asleep now, though, but we should-"

"No, I'm up," Makoto's groggy voice says from the bedroom. "Just let me get dressed..."

"What d'ya need clothes for?" Kisumi calls. "Seems like a waste."

"Because not everyone feels comfortable walking around naked like you do," comes the reply. "You _and_ Haru."

"It's easier," Haru shrugs unapologetically, deciding that it _would_ be nice if Kisumi had less clothes on. He starts on the toggles on Kisumi's sweater, quickly realizing he's not wearing a shirt underneath and that his collarbone is decorated with a string of dark red lovebites. Haru waits for the jealousy to rise white hot in his chest, but it doesn't come.

Makoto yawns as he comes into the kitchen, raising a hand to cover his mouth. As he does, his bicep flexes, straining the fabric enough for it to make a loud tearing sound. He freezes, eyes wide in shock.

"Wrong shirt," Kisumi points out unnecessarily. The one Makoto's wearing is a lavender button-down that's far too tight in the chest and waist, the buttons barely holding on.

Makoto looks down at himself, blushing. "Oops. No wonder it was so hard to do up."

"Boyfriend shirt," Haru breathes.

Kisumi snorts, breaking into a fit of the giggles. "Boyfriend shirt is what happens when _you_ wear Makoto's t-shirts. This is more like...beefcake shirt.  Holy cow, Makoto, have you been working out?"

"I...just a normal amount," Makoto replies, shrinking under Kisumi's gaze. "I don't know, it's not that hard for me to gain muscle I guess. Is it really that bad?"

"You're stretching my shirt out," Kisumi says. "Gosh, I must look like a toothpick compared you."

"I'll take it off!! I'm sorry." He moves to undo the top button in the front, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

Haru slides his hand down to twine his fingers between Kisumi's, squeezing his hand to get his attention. "I wonder if he could pop the buttons."

Kisumi blinks at Haru first, as if unsure he heard right. Then a sly grin creeps across his face. "Makoto! Did you hear that?"

"I'm not doing that! I don't want to ruin your shirt." The shirt clings so tightly to his skin it's like it's molded to him, flexing over his muscles every time he makes a move. Haru can see his nipples clearly through the fabric, hard and perky.

"It's already ruined," Kisumi says, sighing exaggeratedly. "C'mon, Makoto. Please? Look, Haru wants you to do it, too."

"I bet he can pop at _least_ two," Haru guesses, judging the strain of the buttons across Makoto's chest.

"Haru!" Makoto cries. "Don't take his side!"

Haru fixes his eyes on the top button, faintly hoping that he might spontaneously develop telekinesis and be able to make it come apart with his mind. "I'll take you to a dessert buffet tomorrow if you do."

"Yes," Kisumi agrees. "All you gotta do is pretend to be the Hulk for like thirty seconds and tomorrow you get all the chocolate croissants you want."

"F-Fine," Makoto finally gives in, arms dropping to his side in defeat. "But we never, ever speak of this again. Besides, it probably won't even rip. So what do I do? What...pose?"

Haru exchanges a meaningful look with Kisumi, who grins and shrugs. "Doesn't matter."

"Okay," Makoto sighs, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other. "Be prepared for nothing to happen." He clenches his fists, flexing his arms as he draws them in front of him. A few more threads on the shoulder seam snap, the sound easily perforating the room over Kisumi and Haru's collective entranced silence.

"Oh my god, it's so close to popping, look at it," Kisumi breathes, nails digging into Haru's knuckles. "Go, _go!_ "

Makoto pauses and takes a deep breath, eyes closed tight in embarrassment, and as his chest expands with the inhalation, the shirt stretches even tighter, Makoto's skin visible through the spaces between each button.

With a louder tearing sound, the shirt finally succumbs to the stress, both the shoulder seams and the buttons at Makoto's chest ripping apart. One button skitters across the kitchen floor and disappears under the fridge, another one rolling to a stop at Haru's feet. The shirt flaps open that the front, exposing Makoto's chest down to his bellybutton.

"Four," Kisumi counts quickly. "He popped _four_."

Haru absorbs the sight of Makoto's muscles, the ragged remains of the shirt hanging off him giving him a far more erotic cast than usual. "You look like you've been shipwrecked." Images of strong waves and vast, empty beaches pop into Haru's head, Makoto gazing out over the waves as he attempts to make a fire, searching desperately for other survivors. But of course, in Haru's fantasies, the three of them are the only ones that made it, forced to live on a tropical island together, living off fresh spring water and mackerel, going for daily swims...

"I'm going to eat so many croissants tomorrow," Makoto informs them, pulling off what's left of the shirt and opening the fridge door. "And cake, too."

"Sounds like a whole lot of food," Haru says. Perhaps the island they land on could have a small French bakery on it, if it would keep Makoto happy.

"We could help him work up an appetite," Kisumi sings, slinging his arm across Haru's shoulders.

"You already did earlier, without me," Haru replies curtly, shrugging him off to make his point extra clear. Kisumi pouts in mock surprise, this time wrapping both arms around Haru in a tight hug.

"Awww, I'm sorry," he whispers in Haru's ear, hot breath making Haru shiver. "I tried to wait, but." He gestures at Makoto, who's now shirtless, standing at the refrigerator drinking milk straight from the carton.

Makoto chooses that moment to burp loudly, right in the middle of putting the carton away. "Excuse me," he mumbles timidly, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

"How could I keep my hands off that beauty?" Kisumi asks.

"You're right," Haru says, heart racing. "I understand."

Kisumi ruffles Haru's bangs, tucking some hair behind his ear. Haru turns slightly away, more to hide his blush than to withdraw from the touch. "Do you know who else is beautiful?"

"Nobody. Only Makoto."

Kisumi gasps. "Okay first of all, _rude,_ because what about me? And secondly, I was talking about you, and you know it."

Haru tries to resist, but Kisumi turns him until they're facing each other, Kisumi gently gripping Haru's forearms to hold him there. "You're beautiful, Haru. I missed you."

Haru feels his face heating, looking anywhere but Kisumi's face. "I missed you, too." Then Kisumi grants him some relief from having to talk about feelings by tilting his chin up and kissing him.

Haru helps him out of his sweater, never taking his lips off Kisumi's. He sweeps his tongue into Kisumi's mouth, pushing him back down the hallway, aware of Makoto's presence just behind them. Kisumi keeps his hold on Haru's arms, mouth soft and parted to let Haru in, tongue sliding alongside Haru's. It still tastes slightly bitter; Haru wonders if Kisumi swallowed Makoto's come. The thought sets fire blazing through his veins.

"Mmmm, take off your pants," Kisumi mutters once they reach the bed, chuckling. "I need a refresher on how fast you can strip."

Haru's got his belt undone and pants sliding over his hips before Kisumi's even finished talking, whipping his shirt over his head. Once he gets it clear of his eyes, he sees Kisumi staring at him, eyes glinting. "I haven't seen you naked in so long," he sighs, almost whining, his hands quick to caress Haru's body. "Amazing."

Haru shivers and smiles, glancing in Makoto's direction. Makoto sits in the armchair next to the dresser, watching them intently, one hand resting on his stomach just above the obvious bulge in the sweatpants he'd thrown on earlier. He grins happily, giving Haru a thumbs up. "I'm perfectly content over here," he informs them, voice genuine. Haru gives him a thumbs up in return, then pounces on Kisumi while he's still trying to extricate himself from his own clothes.

Kisumi kisses him back passionately, hands roaming over Haru's body while Haru gets him out of the rest of his clothes. Kisumi moans happily through his nose, grinding his hips up against Haru's thigh, his cock hot and already hard.

Haru watches Makoto through his peripherals; he's still watching them, an avid spectator, and he nods when he notices Haru looking. "Can we use your birthday present?" Haru asks him.

"I think you should," Makoto replies, pushing himself up out of the chair. He gets it out of the bottom dresser drawer, still in the box Kisumi sent it in. Kisumi whistles at him while he's bent over, strangely cocky for someone who already knows exactly what's in the box. "Would you like me to do the honours?"

Kisumi watches Makoto come toward him with interest, blowing his bangs out of his eyes; Haru can almost feel the energy vibrating under his skin. Makoto sits on the edge of the bed near Kisumi's head, holding the box in his lap. "Wait. Makoto? Use your hands instead."

Makoto nods enthusiastically, sliding the box toward Haru before climbing into bed to sit at the headboard, Kisumi's head resting between his legs. "Hands, please," he says, catching both of Kisumi's wrists in one big, deft hand.

Pleased with the tableau laid out in front of him, both Makoto and Kisumi waiting to see what happens next, Kisumi with a touch more anxious curiosity in his eyes than Makoto. Haru peeks into the box, rummaging through its contents to find the thing he's looking for. He moves the pair of handcuffs to the side, picking up a bottle of lube to read the label. There's bubblegum, cherry, the half-used bottle of coconut Makoto had tried on him a few evenings ago, and... _pineapple._ He snatches it, setting the box safely on the floor beside the bed before turning his attention to Kisumi's pale thighs and flushed, neglected cock.

He slides his hands up Kisumi's legs, then down again with a bit of nail, loving how Kisumi twitches and gasps already. "Mmm...so it's my turn to get my dick sucked, right?"

Haru shushes him, meeting Makoto's eyes. "Don't let him talk."

"I'll try my best," Makoto says. "But don't charge me with too many Herculean tasks."

"Why not, you're as strong as Hercu-" Makoto cuts Kisumi off by clapping his free hand over his mouth, shaking his head with an amused sigh.

Haru opens the bottle of lube, smelling it first. It doesn't smell like pineapples at all. More like...dishsoap. But he shrugs it off and squirts a dollop onto his fingers, slicking up Kisumi's cock with it. Kisumi matches the movement of his hips with Haru's stroking, legs spread wide so Haru can get close. Haru teases him with his fingers, pulling his foreskin back enough to fondle the tip, making his hips jump.

Once Kisumi's moaning freely through Makoto's fingers, urging Haru on, Haru stops to reapply more lube to his fingers. This time he touches Kisumi with his clean hand, pumping him at a steady rhythm, sliding his fingers between Kisumi's ass cheeks, pressing against his hole.

Kisumi willingly spreads his knees wider so Haru can push a finger inside; once it's up to the knuckle, he wriggles in another, searching for Kisumi's prostate.

"I think that's the spot," Makoto says quietly. "He keeps trying to move his arms."

Haru thrusts his fingers into Kisumi's ass, loving the liquid squelch of the lube going in and out. Kisumi trembles under his hands, his loud panting very audible even under Makoto's hand. His cheeks are dusted deep pink, eyes glassy and unfocused, hair falling messily into his face. "You're trapped, Kisumi," he says. "You can't leave. You have to stay here with us."

Kisumi nods his head earnestly, eyes misty. Haru scissors his fingers, getting a satisfactory whimper from him before withdrawing his fingers. He motions for Makoto to hand him the pillows he's sitting on, which he does, and Haru gets Kisumi to raise his hips so he can push them underneath his ass to prop him up.

Ignoring how lube is already leaking onto the pillowcase, Haru applies even more before settling on his knees between Kisumi's legs, grasping his thighs for support. He bends down, licking some of the excess lube from Kisumi's ass cheek. It tastes a little bit better than it smells, but not by much. Still, it's not intolerable, so Haru presses his tongue against Kisumi's hole, cleaning all the lube off before finally pushing it inside. Kisumi tries to clamp his thighs closed but Haru holds him down, feeling his muscles quiver under his fingers.

Makoto grunts at the force required to hold Kisumi still as Haru continues to work him open with his tongue, reaching as far inside as he can before pulling out to tease his balls instead, all the while leisurely playing with Kisumi's cock, never exerting enough force or speed to seriously bring him to climax.

"Uhhhh, fuck me," Kisumi moans, voice breathy. "Please, Haru..."

Haru looks up curiously, wondering why Makoto's failing to keep Kisumi quiet. Makoto's no longer invested in his part, though he's still pinning Kisumi's arms down with one hand while the other slowly strokes his thick, hard cock, his sweats pulled down around his thighs. Haru's belly twists at the beautiful sight, both of his boyfriends flushed and panting and dripping wet because of him.

Haru makes to pick up the box again and get one of the special condoms Kisumi sent, but Kisumi wraps his legs tightly around Haru's waist so he can't move. "Bare is fine," he says, nodding. "Just hurry."

Haru kisses Kisumi's knee, using the extra lube on his hand to slick his own cock before lining it up with Kisumi's hole. Kisumi's relaxed and open, Haru's cock sliding in easily with only a few thrusts, Kisumi keeping his legs tight around Haru's hips.

"Hard, _hard,_ " Kisumi whimpers, throwing his head back against the mattress as Haru starts to move. Haru obeys, gripping Kisumi by the waist and thrusting into him at a relentless pace, driven by weeks of pent up frustration at not being able to touch Kisumi at all. The bed springs creak under them, the headboard clapping against the wall loud enough to wake the neighbors. Haru kind of hopes it does, hopes that what they're doing leaves its mark on the outside world.

" _Haru,_ " Kisumi cries, face a ruined mess as tears gather in his dark eyes. "So long since I've been fucked so _good,_ god, I'm gonna c-come!"

Haru gyrates his hips to hit Kisumi's good spot, watching keenly as Kisumi's body shudders. He strains against Makoto's iron grip, face screwed up in absolute bliss as a dribble of precome bursts from his cock, landing sticky and slick on his lower belly. Haru grinds again, picking up speed, and Kisumi's hips writhe; he moans wordlessly as he comes, thick white threads streaking across his own chest and face.

Makoto finishes while Kisumi's still catching his breath, catching it in his hand, eyes closed with his head resting against the headboard. Haru thrusts his hips faster, watching Kisumi's worn out face. Makoto finally releases Kisumi's hands, wiping come off his chin with his thumb. He raises it to his mouth, parting his lips slightly to taste it, and a jolt travels straight down Haru's spine, into his hips. He tries to pull out but Kisumi's still keeping him trapped, reaching down with his freshly freed arms to hold Haru's hands.

Haru bites his lip, trying to keep quiet as he comes in the tight heat of Kisumi's ass.

 

 

 

 

 

Haru's jealous of Kisumi's position in the middle, but stuff it down deep inside because it's only fair this way. He throws his leg over Kisumi's waist, snuggling his face against his chest, trying to get comfortable in a way that won't have him teetering on the edge of falling out of bed.

"This feels so good," Kisumi murmurs softly, idly patting Haru's hair. "Even better than the sex. This bed smells just like you guys."

"You should stay," Haru suggests stubbornly for the hundredth time, already knowing what the reply will be.

Kisumi sighs, and the bed creaks as Makoto adjusts his position on the other side of him. "One day. In a few years I can move in."

"We'll need a bigger bed then," Makoto says, a yawn cracking the end of the sentence.

Haru swallows the lump in his throat, tracing patterns on Kisumi's chest. In the faint light of the rising sun and the neon of the sign across the street, he's pretty sure he can make out the dark bites Makoto left there. He pokes one experimentally, getting a cry from Kisumi. "...How long are you staying?" Haru finally asks.

"I have to leave on Monday morning. But you'll see me again at New Years," Kisumi assures him. Haru clings tightly, shaking his head. It's not enough time, it's never enough, but at least it's better than nothing. He keeps telling himself that, as if _nothing_ could ever possibly hurt as much as having something precious in his arms one day, only to have it ripped back out.

"I'm so happy you came," Haru sighs. "I thought you couldn't afford it."

"Makoto bought me the ticket."

"I used all the birthday money my grandparents gave me. Kisumi was the best way to spend it."

Kisumi giggles, shaking against Haru's shoulder. "So if you _think_ about it, it kind of makes me a prostitute."

"Maybe you should start dressing like one then," Makoto suggests in a perfectly straight voice.

"What?!"

Haru explores the outline of Kisumi's face with his fingertips, skating over his cute nose and feeling his eyelashes. "You should hear him talk when he's drunk."

"Oh yeah, I was looking forward to that! But you know," Kisumi says, closing his eyes to avoid being poked but otherwise letting Haru do as he wills, "He already did the Incredible Hulk thing earlier without drinking...how much worse could he be?"

"Way worse. You'll have to find out for yourself."

"We owe him so many pastries for that," Kisumi chuckles. "What time do the cafés open around here? It's almost six, gotta be soon. We should go get-"

Makoto interrupts him with a loud snore.

Haru burrows deeper under the pineapple soap scented pillows, nestling under Kisumi's arm, suddenly a lot more grateful he's not the one trying to sleep right nextto Makoto.

 _Everything's so easy with the three of us together,_ he thinks to himself. No tension, no fighting, no wondering how Kisumi really feels about either of them. It's really not so complicated after all. _We can do this._


End file.
